Veneer
by effervesce
Summary: The life of the bored, privileged, and beautiful, who dance under the moon and fly too close to the sun. /"Everyone plays the game; the only difference is, we own shinier pieces, and it's our board you're playing on."/ OCs.
1. i: the white-out party

**{ Veneer }**

 _The life of the young, rich, and beautiful, who dance under the moon and fly too close to the sun._  
/Everyone plays the game; the only difference is, we own shinier pieces, and it's our board you're playing on./

* * *

 ** _[ hands on my hips, kiss on my lips, didn't even notice when your heart left and took your mind with it. ]_**

 **Warnings: Mild language, mature themes, underage substance consumption.**

* * *

 **3:07 AM.**

"Bitch," Vaughn says coldly, her iridescent hazel eyes blazing with fire. Despite her anger, she is intimidating in her perfection. The first strains of dawn from the ceiling-to-floor window of the Carmichael-owned hotel penthouse bring out the warm golden strands in her loose chestnut waves; the shadows play across her elegant cheekbones; and on her, even vengeful rage looks beautiful.

She can't look at the white oak door of one of the bedrooms any longer, so she focuses on smoothing out a wrinkle in the skirt of her silver jacquard Lela Rose dress. With a couple deep breaths, the brunette deems herself capable of looking her friend in the face without seeming anything but composed.

"What are you thinking?" Celine asks. Her tone might be consoling and gentle, but Vaughn knows it's been a while since the angelic blonde has been allowed to show her horns, and she's dying for an opportunity.

A small smirk plays on the corners of the brunette alpha's full, Chanel Glossimer-stained lips. "I'm thinking it's been getting a little quiet around here."

* * *

 **Earlier, 1:56 AM.**

It's impossible not to notice Kenna as she strides across the room in an indecently short metallic white Herve Leger number that clings to every movement of her lithe body. She doesn't notice any of the stares, however, and simply enjoys being within the crowd of people, swinging her slim hips to the beat of the music.

Callum would be lying if he said that he wasn't paying attention to the way her dress hikes up her thighs when she sits down on the white leather couch and balances one long leg on top of the other. He would also be lying if he said that he didn't first sweep his gaze across the room first to check for his girlfriend before making his way over to her best friend.

"Cal!" the golden-brown-haired beauty calls cheerfully when she spots him. "How was Switzerland?"

He grins, carding his fingers through his dirty blond locks. "The views from hotel rooms were lovely. How was California?"

In response, she crosses her wrists above her head to stretch slowly, considering his question. The action just thrusts her breasts up at him, her low neckline leaving very little to the imagination. His grin grows into a smirk; his favorite thing about her is that she loves to play, to push the rules, as much as he does.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Vaughn with her back towards them, head tossed back at something the ice hockey team captain is saying. His eyes trace the curve of her spine, exposed from the open back of her outfit, and flirtatious tilt of her head as she listens to him talk.

He and Vaughn have always known what their relationship is: they found each other hot as hell, they looked good together, and they'd been friends for a long time. He's pretty sure that Vaughn knows that he strays-one girl he hooked up with found herself the star of more than a few dirty pictures. And while he's pretty sure that Vaughn's never cheated on him, he knows that she's never resisted when other boys put their hands a little too high up on her thighs.

"California was hot," Kenna says, drawing his attention back to her cupid's bow lips. "Plenty of things to do."

" _People_ to do," Cal amends, and she lowers her mascara'd lashes lasciviously over her dark blue eyes.

Bringing up her arm to rest on his shoulder, she leans in a little closer, away from any particularly curious ears. "Jealous? You're welcome to fuck me, too."

It's something that she's said so many times before, and this is just another variation of the same game they've played so many times before. There's a thrill in it—Holden can describe it better, Cal thinks, they've talked about it before—and while Holden thinks he's sick and unhealthy, he nevertheless admits that there's something thrilling about pushing the boundaries of morality. He pushes, and she pushes back, except something is different this time, because before he can process what he's doing, he's literally dragging her into an empty hallway and literally pushing her up against the wall.

He drinks in her gasps with his mouth, forceful, and without hesitation. She can feel his fingers digging into her ass cheeks as he holds her up and lights her veins on fire.

Their clothes are scattered across the floor before they reach the bed.

* * *

 **Earlier, 12:30 AM.**

Scotch is Holden's drink of choice when he needs a pick me up, to feel better about himself. Actually, he drinks scotch even when he doesn't need a pick me up, because he loves scotch, and if he only drank it in those circumstances, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it nearly as often as he'd like. His father is a hotel tycoon and his mother is a model; he could sleep with a different girl every day of the year and still find his dance card full; and he and his friends party on rooftops and run red lights without any regard for the consequences, so he doesn't often find a reason to feel bad about himself. It's just, when he needs a pick me up, he drinks more scotch than he should.

And tonight, he's swirling his fifth glass of amber liquid, along with a separate glass of water. Americans be damned, his grandfather taught him how to drink scotch the proper way, with a class of water to open up the flavor.

He wonders if Shea can feel the heat of his stare as she perches on her boyfriend's lap. Probably not.

He sees her break her attention away from him to greet Kenna, and the dark-haired boy cringes. Was it too much to hope that she and Cal wouldn't cross paths? He could do without the extra drama tonight. It might be hypocritical of him to be annoyed by their love triangle, but he knows he can keep his hands to himself, away from Zach's girl, whereas Cal has always been a connoisseur of forbidden fruit.

Downing the last of his drink, Holden stands up. The alcohol is telling him to find a girl for something quick and hard. "Easy" isn't on the list of characteristics he usually prefers, but he needs to clear his mind.

"Hi?" a timid voice calls from his left.

He turns around, vaguely irritated at the delay and ready to tell them to get lost, but it's a girl, and one he's never seen before, which is unusual, because he knows every girl at Eastwood-Sinclair Preparatory, maybe not by name, but at least by legs and face, in that order.

This girl is at least half-Asian, like Shea, but probably fully Asian, although her wide brown eyes are unusual. Her glossy black hair gleams under the flashing, multi-colored lights of the party; a cream dress with a gold lace overlay hangs off her dainty shoulders elegantly; and her white heels make her legs look miles long. The dress isn't designer though (with Celine as a step-sister, he inevitably picks up a few things about labels), which makes him raise an eyebrow. No girl in ESP would be caught dead in anything but designer labels.

He realizes that, the entire time his alcohol-impaired brain was trying to process everything, he's been shamelessly eyeing her up and down. The light blush across her cheeks makes him smirk. "Hi. Do I know you?"

Her blush deepens at the leer that accompanies his words.

"No, um, I came with Lila." She points towards a red-haired girl in a fitted, white two-piece dress with Tyler Crewe's hands up underneath the top.

Holden figures she had no idea who he was when she called out to him, and was just looking for someone to talk to while her friend was busy being felt up. Either that, or she was looking to score some from him.

But looking at her wary expression, he can't imagine her snorting a line of coke, and so he thinks it's probably the former.

"You can come with me instead," he says suggestively.

When her shoulders stiffen, Holden can't help but be a little intrigued. Not by the girl, no; she's nothing special, pretty girls are a dime a dozen at ESP. It's her reaction that makes his ears perk up, because it's been a while since he's allowed himself to indulge in the long game. Usually, the girls that approach him are forward, or just acting coy. This girl is all innocent sincerity, with just a hint of suppressed lust that he can't wait to draw out of her.

The thrill of this, whatever you'd like to call it, game, chase, or hunt, is the perfect distraction from Shea and Zach, he thinks, surprised that he hadn't thought of it before.

Holden offers her a wolfish grin. "I'm kidding. So, where are you from?"

* * *

 **Earlier, 9:57 PM.**

"You're going to be late for your own party," Celine laughs, lounging on the rim of the bath tub in a slinky silver bandage wrap dress as she watches Vaughn apply the final coats of her mascara.

The auburn-haired alpha gives her a fake scowl. "They can wait."

Celine smothers another laugh at the image of fifty or so of their classmates all waiting outside the door.

" _I_ can't," Shea chimes in, poking her head around the door frame to check on their progress.

"Go back to sucking face with Zach," Vaughn tells her, wriggling her eyebrows, and in cue, the blond steps up behind Shea and wraps his arms around her waist, kissing her over her shoulder. "That's real cute guys. Anyone else kind of want to vomit?"

"Can we not repeat sophomore year? How much did Jason's dry cleaning cost again?"

The room fills with laughter as Nolan winks at Vaughn unapologetically. She groans at the memory, twists the cap back onto her Lancome mascara, and drops it back into her make-up bag.

Dispersed around the rest of the penthouse, there are bowls of white-chocolate-covered pomegranates and chips set out in imported Italian blown-glass bowls. The comprehensive selection of scotch, whiskey, single malt scotch whiskey, vodka, and tequila stocked in the bar has been paid for, and the bartender's been paid off. The penthouse furniture is all white—white leather couch, white plush cushions, white walls, white marble counter, white lamps, white rain-styled Swarovski crystal chandeliers—making it the perfect location for Vaughn's annual White-out Party, the last party of the summer.

From the lit, one-eighty degree mirror, Vaughn can see seven of her eight best friends waiting expectantly in the bathroom. They're all dressed in various shades of white. For the boys, it's white or cream collared shirts and colorful variations of jeans or pastel khakis. For the girls, it's white dresses. Discreetly, she scrutinizes each outfit.

Kenna's California tan pops against her tight metallic body-con, her golden-brown hair perfectly straightened. Celine looks like a literal angel in her white twisted silk Helmut Lang, complete with the flaxen, white-blonde curls and dramatic green eyes. And Vaughn kind of wants to steal the white embellished 3.1 Phillip Lim t-shirt dress that shows off Shea's slender legs and looks blindingly white against her dark brown hair, which has been swept up into an artfully messy bun.

She wishes Alexander could have made it, but Greece's bars and beaches are understandably magnetic.

Still, everything else is absolutely perfect.

A slow, mischievous smirk forms on her lips. "Ready for a great last year?"

* * *

 **well, this was fun, hope you enjoyed! i'll update this sporadically, it's kind of my way of brushing up on my writing skills, so let me know what you think.**

 **xoxo.**


	2. ii: saints & sinners

**{ Veneer }**

* * *

 _ **[ religion ain't what it used to be, all these sinners pretending to be saints ]  
**_ **Warnings:** **mild language, mature themes.**

* * *

Standing in front of the snow-white malls and marble front steps of Eastwood-Sinclair Preparatory, Aislinn knows she's out of place. It wasn't her idea to switch schools right before her senior year—she wanted to go live with her dad, who has a normal house and two dogs and a normal life—but her mom had insisted on having emotional support when moving in with her new rich fiance, and that ESP was a fantastic school. And while Aislinn could grudgingly admit that graduating from ESP would look fantastic to colleges, she didn't have to like it.

She tucks nervously behind her ear a few light brown locks that have slipped out of her messy side braid, and straightens the maroon blazer of her school uniform. School doesn't start until 7:45, but she's here early to figure out her schedule.

The halls are mainly empty, besides a few underclassmen scurrying around. The secretary, a woman in her mid-twenties, with flat brown hair drawn back into a tight pony tail, is at her desk in the main office. Her placard says that her name is Nora Richards.

"Hi," Aislinn says hesitantly, shrugging her backpack a little higher up on her shoulders. "I'm a new student, Aislinn Frost."

Ms. Richards puts down her pen to rifle through the stack of folders sitting on the desk beside her. From the pile, she pulls one out and hands it to the slim brunette. "You missed orientation, so there's your schedule in their, your locker and combo, a map of the school, an informational packet, our school's handbook, and a timetable for your teachers' free periods in case you need extra help. Let your guidance counselor know if you need any help, and welcome.

Aislinn stares down at the glossy maroon and silver folder cover, with the school crest emblazoned boldly in the bottom right corner, and doesn't know if she should feel excited or like she should be getting as far away as possible. "Thanks."

Fishing a pen out of her backpack, she starts to circle her classrooms on the map while wandering through the building. Noises from a classroom on her left catch her attention. It's not really a classroom, Aislinn realizes when she looks closer; it's one of those multi-purpose study rooms that were featured on the ESP website.

The walls are some soothing pastel shade of blue-green, and it's furnished with c-shaped arrangement of light grey plush sofas and ottomans around a modern, stacked black wood table. On the table, there are a few bottles of Voss, a MacBook Air, and a pair of elegant legs clad in strappy, watercolor Manolos.

"Something for you?" the girl with the shoes asks in a lazy, polished drawl, raising her eyebrows. "You're intruding on a Students in the Community's Service meeting."

Aislinn jumps in surprise, blushing at the fact that she was caught eavesdropping. The girl's voice draws the attention of everyone in the room towards the doorway, and suddenly eight pairs of eyes are staring at her with varying degrees of curiosity and disdain.

They look like a spread from a magazine, flawless and intangible. While the school uniform looks like just a uniform on herself, somehow, the same white button-ups, black skirts, and silver-trimmed maroon blazers look like outfits on these girls, who are perched in a row on the couch. Two of them, a classically beautiful blonde and a girl with golden-brown hair and memorably bold features, are giving her a bored once-over, elbows propped on the top of the couch. The girl sitting at the farthest right end, with delicate, exotic features and legs neatly crossed over one another, gives her an encouraging smile.

The boys are in a similar attire but with black slacks. A gorgeous dark brunet is sprawled out, upside down, over an ottoman, the top few buttons of his shirt undone and an unlit cigarette between his lips. There's a toned blonde leaning on the right side of the couch, one arm draped absently around the smiling girl. The dirty blond gives her a suggestive smirk from his spot on the floor, carelessly dangling his jacket on his fingertips, just like he probably does with the rest of the world. The last boy, with dancing honey-brown eyes, only spares her a brief glance before returning to his phone.

"Oh, look at Bridget's Snapchat," he laughs suddenly, passing his iPhone around the room. The other seven lean in closer, having lost interest in Aislinn already.

The blonde girl tips her head back and laughs, bright and radiant. "Holy shit, someone tell me those aren't hickeys."

The cigarette-holding boy flips himself upright. "What do you think her dear Christian mother would say if we mailed her a copy of this?"

"I thought this was a community service club," Aislinn blurts out, a brief moment of courage arising from her feelings of annoyance at such a rude dismissal. She regrets opening her mouth immediately, though, when the first girl with the shoes fixes her once again with a piercing, critical stare.

"It would be a great service to the community if we could save people from being scarred by the thought that someone actually _wants_ to have sex with _Bridget_ ," she says sweetly, flipping her sleek brunette waves over her shoulder.

The dainty half-Asian glances over at the brunette, who looks like a cat with a new mouse to play with, and says loudly, "So, 10 points to the person who can find the name of the guy who made those?"

"Or girl," the dirty blond amends mischievously.

"So we're officially starting the wagers now? I'm down," the brunette declares, a sinful glint in her eyes.

Aislinn gratefully seizes her second chance and retreats back hastily into the hallway.

* * *

Shea exhales with relief when the mousy brunette finally leaves the room. No one else quite notices, already absorbed by the prospect of scoring the first points of the year, but all the same, the ebony-haired girl glad because she is pretty sure Vaughn would've torn her to pieces if she stayed a moment longer.

She leans into Zach's arm and feels him shift to make himself a better pillow, then refocuses on the conversation.

"I'm sorry, who won a Hublot last year?" Holden is asking Cal tauntingly, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to show off the thirty-thousand-dollar Big Bang Unico in Full Magic Gold that he'd gotten for having the most points at the end of the last school year. He scored his final thirty points by seducing the secretary and erasing a few infractions from cutting class on her laptop. They were mostly his infractions, but a bet is a bet and a win is a win.

"Please don't remind me," Vaughn groans. She takes a sip of water and fixes Cal's collar absently. "You know four thousand dollars is a whole shopping trip? I skipped a shopping trip for you."

Cal seems like his usual smarmy self, pressing his lips briefly to Vaughn's lower leg, his blue eyes an ocean of promise. But he and Shea have been friends since birth, and Shea can tell the blond is off his game today. Usually, he isn't so obvious.

"What _is_ the difference between you and Mother Teresa," Kenna teases, then flinches at the dryness of Vaughn's laugh.

The whole morning has been a repeat of the same scenario, building up the tension in the room: Kenna tries to make a joke, and Vaughn finds some way to make an only semi-concealed, barbed response, or lets her joke fall flat entirely. Not many people can make the flawless part-time model feel small and self-conscious, but then, Vaughn has always been multi-talented.

"Mother Teresa wasn't much of a gambler," Nolan says, easing the tension.

Shea is once again reminded that there are reasons why Nolan hasn't been kicked out of ESP yet—despite his inability to stop talking in class, and his general passion for mouthing off to authority figures—and all of them are in that infectious smile and those compelling amber eyes, which are currently aimed at Vaughn.

The brunette gives in and shakes her head, amused. "It's not a gamble if I know I'm going to win."

("Mother Teresa wasn't a hypocritical bitch," Kenna says under her breath, but no one except Shea hears, and Shea pretends she doesn't hear it, so did anyone really hear it at all?)

"It's just 10 points," Cal scoffs.

Shea feels Zach's arm move as he laughs. "Okay, what a shitty humble brag. We get it, you've won a 50-point wager before, and we're all so proud of you for getting the vice principal fired."

"I just really need you to acknowledge my skills," Cal laments mournfully.

"Skills, plural?" Shea asks.

"Let's make it an extra 5 for the person who can fuck Bridget's soulmate, and make sure she walks in on it," Cal proposes, rolling his eyes as flips through Bridget's Snapchat story again.

Celine bats her long lashes, her green eyes sparkling, and lets her silky white-blonde dresses cascade over her shoulder as she leans forward. "Oh, you all know this is my win now, easy."

Vaughn stares straight at Cal as she replies, "I wouldn't count me out."

* * *

By the time first period rolls around, Aislinn has managed to tuck the encounter away in the back of her mind. She's sort of made friends, she thinks, maybe. There's a pretty red-haired girl named Lana, who is into the same Netflix shows as she is, and a skinny blonde boy—Louis?—who's insisted on walking her to the first period class that they share, AP Calculus II.

Some students are already inside, chatting animatedly about their summers. And in the second row, in the seat closest to the window, is the brunette girl from the Students in the Community's Service club, waving her hand primly in an sarcastic greeting. Sitting beside her is the boy with the dark brown hair and the GQ features, looking for all the world like a proper, straight-laced member of Westchester's high society, except for the wicked amusement flickering in his grey eyes.

* * *

 **thanks for the lovely reviews guys, they definitely motivate me to write these chapters faster. this was more of a filler chapter, and i might come back to edit it, but i hope it was interesting enough anyways,**

 **xoxo.**


	3. iii: hurricanes

**{ Veneer }**

* * *

 _ **[ we blow through like hurricanes and you can pick up the pieces ]  
**_ **Warnings:** **mild language, mature themes.**

* * *

Kenna really doesn't mind gym. Her friends all hate that gym is mandatory, but a lot of the athletes' parents are on a "healthy body, healthy mind" kick and so the gym program is here to stay.

She relies her silky golden-brown waves into a high ponytail while leaning down into a forward fold. Looking past her athletic Lululemon leggings, she sees the row of bows in the back laughing and trying to knock each other over. The professional yoga instructor at the front of the gym hears them, but doesn't really care: she's being paid by the hour and can't be bothered to yell at inattentive students.

"Vaughn's mad at me," Kenna whispers to Shea, who is on her left.

The slim half-Asian frowns. "You slept with her boyfriend."

"Boy toy," Kenna corrects, looking up briefly to catch the instructor's switch from the forward fold to a high plank. Vaughn and Cal aren't really dating, no matter what they choose to tell themselves. They're together because Vaughn is a queen who wants a king to make her look better, and she's only angry because of how their hook-up makes her look like her universal control is slipping.

"Do you like him?" Shea asks bluntly.

It's a question Kenna's asked herself before, and she's pretty sure the answer is no. Yes, she likes the way he kisses; and yes, she likes that he's hot; and yes, she likes his attention; but no, she doesn't like _him_.

She tells Shea as much, and gets an exasperated sigh in response. Not that she expected her committed, monogamous friend to understand. Really, she's lucky that she doesn't get a lecture as well. But it's simply validating to know that Cal would choose hooking up with her on a Saturday over his relationship with Vaughn.

"I don't know, it just kind of happened," Kenna groans, deciding not to mention that she was only flirting with him, and that he was the one who turned it into something else. It might be a childish way to think about it, but it still annoys her that she's the one catching all the shit while Cal walks away clean. Cal isn't worried about whether or not Vaughn is planning something.

"We shouldn't unleash you on the world when you're drunk," Shea concludes finally.

Grinning affectionately, Kenna draws her hips up into a downward dog, feeling her abs tighten and her calf muscles stretching. It's just like Shea to assume it was the tequila. She always tries to paint everyone in the best possible light—it makes her want to be as good as Shea thinks she is—but honestly, it probably would've happened even if she hadn't been drunk.

"So, how's the bet going?" Kenna asks, switching the subject.

She's tired of talking about it, because all she can really do is hope that Vaughn will keep up her passive aggression without escalating to something worse. The coldly beautiful alpha is bad at letting things go, and revenge is a no-holds-barred kind of sport for her. Not to mention, their conversation is drawing the attention of all the girls around them. No one is bold enough to be obvious about their eavesdropping, but the girls closest to them have angled their yoga poses to be in the best position to listen in.

Shea smiles coyly. "I know who it is."

She doesn't usually win bets, and definitely not this kind of bet, so Kenna laughs in surprise. It's only been a day. "How? What?"

"You know that sophomore I tutor?" Shea asks as they bend into warrior one poses. "He was talking about it, I think it was his friend."

"They're from a sophomore? She screwed a sophomore?" Kenna whisper-screams in delight.

The tension between them from their earlier conversation dissipates as they settle into their comfortable gossip and argue playfully, but Kenna can't shake her irritation.

* * *

The cafeteria is painted a soft shade of green, which, not coincidentally, is Celine's favorite color. Her grandfather donated an enormous amount of money when the cafeteria was undergoing renovations, with the one stipulation that the school would paint the walls to match his precious granddaughter's preferences. Seeing the color adds to her good mood. Finally, things are returning to normal, before Kenna stole _her_ best friend.

She smoothes her hunter green Alexander Wang fit-and-flare dress as she makes her way over to her usual circular table. Holden and Nolan already there inhaling waffle fries. The girls are almost always late because they take the time between periods to fix their make-up, and Celine is only here on time because she had a naive substitute teacher in her last class.

"No seriously, and that was a brand new Jag, too," Nolan is saying. Perpetually incapable of doing just one thing at a time, he's picking at his carton of fries with his right hand and scrolling through Buzzfeed quizzes with his right.

Celine settles down beside Holden, places her tan leather Michael Kors tote on the floor, and arranges her salad and Fiji on the sleek white tabletop. "What happened to someone's Jaguar?"

Holden flicks a fry into her salad lazily. "Mason hit Brent's new Jaguar in the parking lot yesterday."

"He flipped a couple shits. I was so sure he was going to punch Mason in the face," Nolan chimes in, picking the fry out of her salad and tossing it into his mouth.

Celine eyes him with a raised brow. Nolan is a bottomless pit when it comes to food. But swim practices ensure that he's never been anything but lean.

"Isn't Mason already on thin ice for bringing a hard copy of the U.S. History test into class?" she asks, stepping on Holden's foot with the heel of her Louboutin pumps. They've been step-siblings since middle school, and he is just as annoying now as he was then.

Nolan nods, laughing. "Yeah, he literally had one job, and he couldn't even cheat right."

Celine lets out a yelp of surprise and flails in her seat as Holden nudges her shoulder forcefully. "What the fuck!"

If there's anything she hates, it's attracting negative attention. Their table is one of the few circular tables situated along in the center aisle of the cafeteria, able to be seen from any angle. The students sitting at one of the tables closest to theirs looks over curiously, and she glares at them until they look away, making a mental note to publicly remind Liza that black is a more slimming color than the floral print shirt she's currently wearing.

Holden looks smugly amused.

"I could move to another table if you two want some time alone," Nolan offers cheekily, and gets dirty looks from both step-siblings.

With Celine's angelic features, immaculately straight white-blond hair, and light green eyes, and Holden's more angular looks, wavy dark brown hair, and eyes the color of a stormy night, the two are always being asked whether they're siblings or dating. The question usually sets Celine off at whoever asked it. They've been siblings for long enough that the thought of dating him is genuinely horrifying and kind of offensive, because he's gross and leaves his dirty socks on the pristine white couch in the living room.

"I think Holden's new _girlfriend_ might have a problem with that," Vaughn says as she slides into the seat next to Nolan. "By the way, Celine, your hair looks fantastic."

Celine runs her fingers through her hair, freshly done with highlights and lowlights, with satisfaction. "Thanks."

Holden turns to Nolan and says, "By the way, Nolan, your hair looks fantastic."

"I just want to look as beautiful on the outside as I feel on the inside," Nolan answers, preening. "But dude, a girlfriend? Who?"

He shrugs, tilting himself backwards in his seat so that he's balancing on the two back legs of the chair. "This girl from the party, Lila's friend?"

Celine narrows her eyes. Lila's friends are all a little too easy to fit Holden's usual type. Whenever Holden says he has a new girlfriend, it usually means he has a new challenge, not a new one-night stand.

Seeing her look, Holden adds, "She goes to Briarwood-Octavian."

Nolan wiggles his eyebrows. "A rival school. Have you fucked her yet?"

"God, no. A good relationship takes time, you can't just rush into things like that. You have to get to know each other first," Holden answers. His innocent words contrast sinfully with his dangerous smirk.

Celine laughs. "I'll ask again in three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Holden asks, placing a hand on his chest. "Have a little faith."

"I don't know guys, maybe she'll be the one," Vaughn argues. "Name your firstborn after me."

"Bitch Carmichael-Rhodes does have a nice ring to it," Nolan agrees, angling himself and his fries out of her reach.

Suddenly, he freezes. All four heads at the table turn to watch Kenna and Shea walk into the cafeteria, look around, and then sit down in the booth where the new girl is sitting alone.

* * *

 **thanks again so much for the reviews, guys c:** **sorry for being hella slow with this update, i've just been busy these few months because school.  
anyways, i'm thinking i should probably post a lil character page so it's easier to remember all the characters.**

 **xoxo.**


	4. iv: breathless

**{ Veneer }**

* * *

 _ **[ hold onto your breath, i might take it away ]  
**_ **Warnings:** **mild language, mature themes.**

* * *

Nolan whoops with glee as he speeds down the highway, his 911 Turbo S Cabrio, his precious baby Porsche cutting across the road with effortless ease and power. His family doesn't like to be ostentatious with its wealth—to most old-money families in Westchester, it's tacky and low-brow—but luxury cars are his and his dad's vice, and so he's not even a little bit apologetic for flashing every cent of the two-hundred grand vehicle.

The fall wind cards through his wavy light brown locks, a pair of aviators shields his eyes from the rising sun, and 1975's The Sound is blasting from the sound system. It's his favorite feeling in the world.

"Slow down," Alexander says, only partially joking. The needle on the speedometer is inching too close to the 80 mark for his comfort.

A glance at the speedometer makes Nolan laugh, and he speeds up a hair, the car purring into a solid 85, just to mess with his rule-following passenger before slowing back down to a more acceptable 70. "Live a little, Alexander the Great."

The half-Greek, quarter-Spanish, quarter-Turkish dark blond has the kind of look that would make all sorts of panties drop and all sorts of doors open, and the air of a guy who would eagerly take advantage of that. Tall, tanned, and toned, with eyes the color of sea-glass, broody features, and full, kissable lips (not that Nolan has ever thought about kissing him, he's just been told). No one would be able to tell just by looking at him that it almost takes a crowbar to pry Alec off the straight and narrow. Of course, Nolan prides himself on being a very effective crowbar.

At Kenna's surprise celebratory party when she landed a part-time modeling gig in their sophomore year, he was the one who convinced Alec to knock back his first shot of vodka ever, and then six more afterwards. During the seventh grade, he talked Alec into spontaneously boarding a cruise with him in the Caribbean for winter break, where Alec kissed his first girl. And when they met for the first time in the third grade, he persuaded Alec to steal Vaughn's crackers because she scribbled all over his drawing with purple marker.

"I dived off cliffs in Greece and you're telling me to live a little," Alec grumbles.

"You texted me at 3 AM to pick you up from the airport," Nolan reminds him cheerfully. "I can tell you whatever I want. Why the hell did you need me to pick you up again?"

The dark blond looks out the window. "My parents were going to send a driver, but I just, wanted to see someone familiar after two months, you know?"

Nolan does know, and he's sorry he asked.

"I brought you back a bottle of something, by the way," Alec adds, nodding to the back of the car, where his suitcase is stored.

"MVP!" Nolan cheers, clapping his best friend on the shoulder.

"Keep your hands on the wheel," Alec insists, but grins and leans his head back to enjoy the feel of the crisp breeze curling across his neck. He never thought that he could miss the cold weather, but so much time on the hot and humid beaches have proven him wrong.

Nolan suddenly remembers something. "Oh, so Vaughn and Kenna are pissed at each other."

He perks a little at the mention of Kenna's name, and Nolan rolls his eyes. With all the hot girls in Greece, was it too much to hope that Alec had gotten over his little crush? While Nolan likes Kenna, the thought of him dating Alec makes him cringe. It might be fun for a month, but in the end, the blithe brunette doesn't know how to do anything but break hearts: her relationships all last an average of three weeks.

"What happened?" Alec asks, drawing his attention out of his thoughts.

Nolan makes a face. "Just a bunch of dumb shit. Kenna, uh, hooked up with Cal behind Vaughn's back, and then sat with the new girl. And Vaughn...well I don't want to know what she's planning."

He waits for Alec to react to the news about Kenna, but to his surprise, the blond just nods and mulls it over thoughtfully before asking, "The new girl?"

"You're going to be so much better acquainted with her than you expected," Nolan warns him with a wry grin.

Alec laughs freely, and Nolan chalks up his own breathlessness to the wind blowing through from the open top of the car.

* * *

Vaughn is good at pushing buttons. In fact, it's almost second nature. She knows what makes people tick, so when she giggles at the sales aid's shitty joke and brushes her hand along his biceps, she kind of already knows that Cal is going to drag her into a changing room and kiss her with bruising force.

"You have a thing for pushing girls up against walls, huh," she says sardonically, when he crowds her against the back of the room, pulling away.

"Shut up," he orders, gripping her chin, running his thumb along her bottom lip, his blue eyes dark and captivating.

Just to push him farther, she locks her eyes with his and parts her lips slightly to suck on the tip of his thumb.

She feels him smirking wickedly against her neck when he hears her gasp at the feeling of his mouth trailing a searing line of kisses to her collarbone. _Cocky_ , she thinks, and rolls her hips against his in response.

Her eyes slide over to the full-length mirror on the adjacent wall, and she has to admit that jealousy looks good on him, on them. With her back arched, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and with his hair twisted between her fingers, eyes intense with want, knee nudging apart her thighs, they look like sin incarnate.

This is the foundation of their relationship, the push and the pull and the pushing back harder. And it's fun— _god_ , does Vaughn like the feeling of holding all the cards and all the strings—but there's something burning and bitter in her stomach this time.

"We could do it right here," she breathes, low and right beside his ear. The words feel like lead on her tongue.

Just then, a knock comes from the other side of the door, followed by a tentative female voice, another Bloomingdale's employee: "Hi, I'm sorry, but guys have to wait outside in the waiting room."

Cal only pulls away long enough to growl, "Fuck off."

But Vaughn slips neatly from his arms, finger-combs the ends of her ponytail, and picks up her Tory Burch tote, which slid off her arm in the moment. The calculated movement molds her darkwash Sevens ankle jeans to the curve of her yoga-toned ass.

Pushing open the dressing room door, she tosses a look over her shoulder. His breathless frustration soothes some of fire she feels. "Too bad you didn't say that to Kenna."

Her phone buzzes with texts as she leaves the store, not bothering to check if Cal has followed.

 **Alec:** so, westchester mall, food?  
 _1:32 PM._

 **Nolan:** guys i don't have any money and the pizza guy is getting mad so pls hurry  
 _1:33 PM._

 **Nolan:** 3 pretty 5 jail  
 _1:33 PM._

The two are sitting in the Westchester Mall food court, flicking triangles made out of their straw wrappers through football goals made with their fingers. Even though they're both sitting under the unattractive fluorescent glare of mall lighting, Nolan in a Columbia sweater and athletic shorts, and Alec in a short-sleeved contrast-trim Armani polo and sweatpants, every girl, mother, and grandmother who passes by can't help but glance over in their direction.

Four teenage girls, who either think they're exceptionally pretty or are exceptionally bold, have chosen to sit at the table right next to theirs. Vaughn cringes with secondhand embarrassment at their outfits and their desperation. They're from the public school—one of them is wearing an Abner High School jacket—and a lot of the public school girls come to Westchester Mall is to flirt with ESP boys, because it's not like any of them can afford to actually _shop_ here.

"You look like shit," is the first thing Vaughn says to Alec before letting him envelope her slim frame in a warm hug. She catches the girls at the other table staring enviously and smirks.

It's not true, and Alec knows it's not true, because he looks great minus the fact that he needs a haircut, but this is Vaughn's way of telling him that she missed him, so he doesn't mind.

When he lets go, she adjusts the strap of her slouchy, black quilted Tory Burch tote so that it doesn't wrinkle her white silk tie-front Joie top. From the corner of her eye, she can see Cal approaching their table; he must've seen Alec's text in their group chat, too. To his credit, his frustration isn't obvious, and aside from his hair, he looks composed.

"Hey man, how was Greece?" Cal asks, covertly snatching a slice of pizza from Nolan's unguarded spread on the table and wolfing it down in a few seconds.

Nolan returns with Vaughn's wallet just in time to see him inhale the crust.

"I can't believe you didn't bring money," Vaughn reprimands him, shaking her head.

He grins sheepishly. "Actually, I didn't bring my wallet."

The only reason Nolan hasn't been arrested yet is because his father practically owns the town. And because Alec's father is a damn good lawyer.

"It was good," Alec answers Cal. Vaughn is sure that Nolan's caught him up by now, and she's impressed that his face gives nothing away, because Alec usually wears his heart on his Armani sleeve.

Cal raises an eyebrow. "Don't 'good' me, I saw the pictures."

"It was a fucking A," Alec amends, rolling his eyes in exasperated amusement. He isn't good at keeping up his facade of composure for long, though. Vaughn notices his left hand clenching under the table and swiftly changes the subject.

"So, Alec..." she starts innocently, batting her lashes.

The blond chuckles and mimics her tone, instantly recognizing the voice she uses when she wants a favor, "So, Vaughn..."

"10 points if you help me welcome the new girl?" Vaughn offers.

The prospect of another bet makes Cal and Nolan perk up as well, and they forget about the original the original topic. As much as none of them like to admit it, their group functions best with drama.

After all, there's nothing better than ruining an outsider to make everyone forget about whatever tension exists inside.

* * *

 **sorry guys, i know i said i was going to do a character profiles page. i had it all typed out on my phone, but long story short, i'm kind of an idiot and wrecked my phone last night, and i'm still a little too bitter to type it all up again so hope you enjoy this instead!**

 **xoxo.**

 **( oh, ps. if any of my lovely readers are interested in submitting an oc, just fill out the form below and shoot me a pm. i can't promise that i'll use them all, and i can't promise that you'll always like what happens to them, but i know personally it's fun for me to read a story my character's in, so yup.**

 **and, as always, feel free to let me know what you think of my story/if you just have comments in general!)**

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